REM
by skittles84
Summary: A sequel to 83 Miles. Rachel and Quinn continue their life together in the aftermath of the disaster.


**So this has been a long time coming; I started on it not long after posting 83 Miles but then I took my hiatus. This is a continuation and it will be several chapters (I don't know how many for sure just now) and I'm not sure when the next chapter will be up. I'm posting because I had most of the chapter done and just finished up the first section. *I do not own Glee, it's Characters, or R.E.M and any of their songs***

* * *

**We All Go Back To Where We Belong**

* * *

[06-12

The world being reformed around us is not too all together unpleasant, though I confess I may be a slight bit biased, and I am proud to be at least a small part of that. Things are difficult at times, but far from unbearable, and as challenging as it has been over the past six months, there is a definite growing sense of ease. Perhaps ease is not the correct way to describe it; more accurately I would call it a sense of simplicity. Our community was lucky enough to be able to salvage from antique shops so our transition to lower technologies has been a blessing, and even over this relatively short period of time, we are already adjusting to the new way of doing things—or I suppose it would be more factual to call it the old way of doing things. I image many other survivors have had the same idea and I hope they have had the same luck. Quinn's garden project has flourished extremely well; it never ceases to amaze me how different the weather is now. It is the middle of summer and it feels more like the first stirrings of fall, neither oppressively hot nor showing any signs of chill coming on. As askew as so many things seem, there is an exciting new feeling of balance.

As I said, things are not easy; tasks that used to be all but instant now take much more effort and preparation. Washing clothes, taking baths, cooking meals, and most daily necessities require considerably more time and labor, but after some adjustment, these things are falling back into habit. Of course what we all miss the most is communications; I suppose our society was spoiled. At our fingertips we had a link to nearly anyone we could ever wish to speak to. On a whim we could call our loved ones—in a pinch we could type out a hasty e-mail. I used to jot down short messages on brightly colored cards and pop them in the mail for a personal touch to show someone I cared. For now that indulgence is gone, and so the people close to us, quite literally within walking distance, are the only source of information and companionship. I'm not complaining; I have grown quite fond of and attached to many characters of our little 'dynasty' as Grub calls it. However close Quinn and I have become to them, though, they are no replacement for the people we are currently living without—friends and family of whom we have no way of knowing are even still alive. I'm rationally aware that survivors are probably most successful in the ruins of large cities such as our own, but in my heart I feel as though they must be alive. I hope against hope that Lima has managed to thrive. Quinn and I have sat up late into the night many times going over the odds of their endurance, picking through our memories of Lima, and devising scenarios in which the events went favorably.

Lima. I can't help but muse at how desperately I wanted to leave that little town behind me and make New York my home—my kingdom. I was going to take New York by storm and never really look back on the place where I grew up and left in the dust except to remember my days there in fond and hazy memories. I knew I would miss my fathers and my friends who had remained there, but I always suspected I would see them often enough. I imagined I would open my home to them and show them around the city as though I owned the place; I would be Rachel Berry the star—successful—the toast of the town. It never occurred to me that going back to Lima would someday be a monumental task, even possibly deadly, and I never thought that I would not have that option and that makes the desire to see it once again all the more urgent. So many questions demand answering and despite all our theories and per-chances, there is no way to know for sure. We have to know. Quinn and I need to see for ourselves who and what remains of everything we once knew. That is why, after today's ceremony, in the early morning of our first day as a married couple, we will set out for Lima.

There is a definite fear, a gnawing unease, which comes from choosing to abandon all we know in a search that could lead to uncertainty. We have worked hard along side the other New York survivors and, as I said before, we have become close to them, but we have never felt at home. Not that they don't accept us, of course, because together we all have worked so hard to make this a safe place; it is simply that this is not our home. Quinn and I agree that we cannot start a proper future without putting our past to rest, and that means answering those still lingering questions. We have prepared for this for weeks, truthfully longer; I feel we were always getting ready to make this journey from the moment we found each other. So tomorrow we will leave the safety of Bushwick and set out to find our future. The fact that an immediate journey into dangerous, possibly hostile territory is not what most would call an ideal honeymoon, but closure is the best give we could ever give each other.

Now that I have brought this journal up to current events, I will set the more technical descriptions aside and write of happier things. Today, in mere hours, Quinn and I will be married! It has been the most trying day of my life because she has insisted on being traditional, so I have not been allowed to see her all day. She refused to look at the dress I selected while out gathering supplies deeper in the city with Grub, whom I believe I will miss the most, and so I have been deprived of her opinion as to whether it suits me or not. In turn, she has denied me even the tiniest of peeks at what she has selected to wear. I woke early this morning only to find that she had stolen out of our room sometime in the night in the name of tradition. Of course she is right, but after so many years of loving her from afar—keeping her close while still keeping her at a distance—it is terribly frustrating to be without her even for a day. Some of the girls have helped me with my hair and makeup, but then they had to go; life is busy these days after all, and all I can do now is wait here alone in our room with this enormous bundle of nerves, but it will all be worth it.

Quinn and I have struggled over how to handle the situation of our last names. Would I become Rachel Fabray or would she become Quinn Berry? I jokingly teased that our last name should be a mixture of our last names: Berray or Faberry. I am positive that Quinn was merely joking, but for a while she seemed rather set on us being Quinn and Rachel Faberry, but I put a swift stop to that! So we have settled on hyphenating our names to Berry-Fabray, which I strongly feel has a better ring to it than Fabray-Berry (which sounds like some odd kind of stutter) and Quinn seems pleased with that. I, myself, am simply content to know that we are joining together as one, no matter the title we take.

I am refraining from going too in-depth at this time about my feelings for Quinn and how they have grown stronger than I ever dreamed I was capable of experiencing, because if I did, I would be at this desk forever and miss the wedding altogether. I believe that statement conveys how blissfully happy I am and how proud I am to be hers without adding too many pages to this entry. My vocabulary would undoubtedly fail me if I were to try, anyway.]

Quinn stood nervously under the archway that served as the gate to a little park not far from the hospital-turned-housing-complex and listened to the humming of the choir. The corners of her mouth twitched up; Rachel had managed to keep music alive in these people's hearts and that thought filled her with pride. Judging by the sun, it must have been approximately six thirty in the afternoon; it seemed late to be performing a wedding ceremony, but Quinn's mind had been set on it from the day she heard Rachel mention how a sunset wedding seemed so romantic—it had also helped the decision that the brunette looked absolutely stunning in the soft, warm, light of pre-dusk. The blonde fidgeted with her dress, feeling wise that she had gone with something simple but elegant, because if the gown had been frilly, she would have run the risk of being caught twirling like a little girl. She was determined to keep her composure for as long as possible no matter how giddily her heart beat and fluttered in her chest. Her hand instinctively drifted up to check her hair and caught herself just in time; she had been keeping her hair short which had made styling it for today particularly frustrating for her. Megan, the woman conducting the ceremony for them, gave her a knowing smile.

"You look wonderful, Quinn," she assured her with a wink. "Just breathe and focus on your vows."

Quinn smiled back at her—the grin threatened to take over her entire face and she struggled to rein it in—and turned her attention back to the street where all their fellow survivors were standing. The choir stopped humming and began singing, signaling that Rachel would soon appear, and Quinn sucked in a deep breath. Hazel eyes caught sight of Rachel, who had just appeared; the brunette had chosen a princess reminiscent dress—exactly what the blonde imagined she would pick. Quinn reminded herself to breathe as she watched her fiancé approach and stifled a happy laugh when Rachel stopped half way to her and spun around quickly before continuing on her way to the arch as though she had somehow read her mind. The brunette was fighting off a giggle as she joined her under the arch and her warmth was contagious. It took all Quinn's concentration to hear Susan's words; each second seemed blurred, ticking by simultaneously slow and quick. She desperately wanted to freeze this moment for as long as possible; it was a perfect memory, perhaps the last perfect instance they would have for a long time, and she wanted to remember the feeling of every second. Quinn felt her vows pour out of herself and Rachel's vows, flowery and long winded, flow into her.

In this moment, life seemed perfect, and the journey they were planning seemed pointless, a foolhardy risk. As she held Rachel's hands and gazed into her eyes, Quinn was tempted to call the journey off completely. She had been out there and it hadn't been pleasant and now that she was slipping an intricately etched ring onto the girl's tan finger, she wanted nothing more than to keep her safe. As Rachel glided the matching wedding band into place on Quinn's hand, the risk felt monumental, but it was what they wanted.

Quinn swallowed a happy sob and pushed her worries to the back of her mind and let herself focus on this perfect second.

"I do," Quinn said solemnly.

"I do," Rachel echoed back.

* * *

The plan had been to leave in the early morning, but after a long night of vigorous celebration, Quinn had decided to push their departure time to mid-morning. It didn't surprise her that, after tearful goodbyes and last minute speeches from their friends, it was noon when they began their final supply checks. The trip to Lima, Ohio would have taken nine hours by car, but there was little hope of the roads being capable of supporting a vehicle the entire way there. Instead, they had decided on two touring bicycles and two tow-behinds to carry their supplies. It was a much different feeling as Quinn prepared for the journey; the urgency and heavy ache that had filled her the first time was replaced with a queasy feeling in her stomach and uneasiness in her mind—a feeling Rachel insisted was unnecessary. They had plenty of supplies, a calculated plan, and each other. As the blonde attached the tow-behind to her bike, she was grateful that this time she would not be alone; she would be with the love of her life, for better or worse. Quinn knew her wife was strong, but there were unknown things outside the city limits, even beyond the perimeter of the little haven they had created, and she couldn't imagine that everyone who survived would be as upstanding as the people they had been with. She wondered if she would be able to protect Rachel from all of it.

The brunette was hovering over her own tow-behind, clipboard in hand, as she checked off every item for a second or third time. Quinn glanced at the bright yellow bicycle that Rachel had insisted on choosing and smiled; the petite girl's trailer was decorated with star decals. The blonde had refused to decorate hers or ride the obnoxiously pink bike that her wife had pointed out to her; she wanted to keep the planning as technical and practical as possible to drill in the fact that this was a serious undertaking. Secretly she was regretting the hard stance, but she would never let Rachel know that. Quinn peeked up at the brunette and smiled as she watched the serious expression on her face—she found it adorable. The girl's hot-chocolate eyes flicked over to her, as though she had felt the blonde watching, and she smiled.

"Everything is here," Rachel chimed as she closed the lid of the tow-behind. "Now to check yours and we will be ready to go."

The brunette's face was close as she fastened the lid shut and Quinn bobbed up to steal a kiss from her wife.

"Are you sure you still want to do this?" Quinn asked. "Because we could still go back to our room before someone claims it."

"Do not try to tempt me, Quinn Berry-Fabray," her wife said sternly. "You know as well as I that we have to do this."

"Can't blame me for trying." She a laughed.

Rachel made her way to begin checking the remainder of their supplies, but the seriousness had left her face as she continued to talk.

"You just don't want to introduce me to your parents," she teased lightly.

"Parent," Quinn corrected. "And no, it's not because of that."

"I'm merely teasing you, oh-wife-of-mine," Rachel replied. "Of course she will utterly love me. How could she not?"

The blonde laughed; she knew that under the joking there was a code. Rachel wasn't concerned about what would happen when they found Judy; she was, just like Quinn, worried what would happen if they couldn't find her—or anyone else. They had decided that for the duration of the trip they would not talk about the what-if's; until they arrived in Lima, they would conduct themselves as if everyone were alive and healthy and that would keep them going when things became difficult.

Rachel finished her final assessment and tucked the clipboard into her backpack.

"Well," she sighed, "we are as ready as we could every possibly hope to be."

Quinn tested the connection of the tow-behind to the bike, rolling the wheel back and forth several times to be sure noting was obstructing movement, and then wrapped the brunette in her arms.

"And I'm as happy as I could ever possibly hope to be," she said warmly in Rachel's ear.

"Me too," Rachel replied.

They both jumped at a crashing sound in the building across the street; Quinn tensed and instinctively placed her hand on the gun holstered to her hip. After a few minutes without any other sounds, she rubbed her hands up and down Rachel's arms and gave her a light peck on the cheek.

"Grub would want to know about that building," she commented as she walked over to her bike. "Shall we ride or walk to the bridge?"

Rachel took hold of both handle bars and pushed the kickstand up. "I say we enjoy a leisurely walk to the bridge. I am positive we will be sick of riding soon enough."

Quinn nodded and they began walking their bikes down the street; she still wasn't used to how empty the city felt. Amid the deserted buildings were piles of rubble and makeshift cemeteries; most of the buildings had large print spray painted across them warning of structural damage or simply notifying that it had been picked clean already. Most of them had information on where to find help. Grub and many others still combed the city daily, slowly making their way further out, in search of resources and survivors, but the hopes of finding people now was beginning to fade. The blonde had confided in the older man about her experience just before they had found each other, but they hadn't seen any sign of the man in their searches. Eventually she had told Rachel as well; she had never planned to, but it seems she betrayed herself in her sleep and the brunette hadn't let up until the entire story had been told—or so she thought. Quinn had skimmed as much as she could; she didn't want to relive it and she knew it would give her wife nightmares, so she told her just enough to give her a healthy fear of what they could encounter in people on the road.

"I wish you would carry a gun, Rachel." Quinn said, for what seemed like the hundredth time since they began planning to leave.

"I have consented to carry mace and a knife," Rachel replied haughtily, "and you know I abhor violence. Also, guns are scary and dangerous."

"That's why I want you to have one." The blonde groaned as she rolled her eyes. "I want you to be scary and dangerous to anyone who might want to hurt you."

Rachel held up her can of mace and pointed it at her wife. "Are you telling me that you are not the least bit frightened by this?"

"I'm frightened you might accidentally spray me with it right now, yes." Quinn laughed. "At least guns have a safety lock."

"I'm not going to spray you; I'm quite capable of controlling a can of mace," Rachel said dejectedly as she struggled to tuck it back into its holster, causing a slight amount to fizz out of the nozzle.

"Clearly," the blonde teased.

"I will ignore that tone only because I love you so much and I don't want to ruin our honeymoon," the brunette snapped back.

"Clearly," Quinn repeated with a laugh.

She steered her bike slightly so that she was walking closer to her companion, their hips grazing from time to time as they walked.

"Are you sure you don't want a more traditional honeymoon?" the blonde offered.

Rachel stopped and put the kickstand down before placing both hands on her hips.

"Quinn, we need to do this," she said sternly. "You know it as well as I. I know you want to do this and I know that the only reason you are holding back now is because you don't believe that I can handle myself out there. You're afraid of me getting hurt and I appreciate that; I worry about what will happen too. I'm utterly terrified that something could happen to you as well, but we have talked about this. Whatever happens, we will face it together."

Quinn smiled; she missed the classic Rachel-rant and was finding this one to be particularly provoking. She could remember back in high school when the brunette would go off on a tangent and she would become annoyed and uncomfortable; she understood all to well now that it was because Rachel being so passionate and forceful about, well anything, had been a major turn on that she hadn't wanted to acknowledge. A smile fought its way past the serious façade Quinn was trying to keep in place, which caused Rachel to huff.

"I am being serious, Mrs. Berry-Fabray," she fumed. "If we put this off now, we will regret it for the rest of our lives, and I refuse to live with any more regrets."

"I'm sorry." Quinn chuckled as she balanced her bicycle on the kickstand. "You're just so incredibly—"

"Obstinate?" Rachel guessed. "Overzealous? Obnoxious?"

"Sexy," the blonde cut back in, "when you get like this."

"Oh." The brunette blushed.

Quinn stepped forward and slid her hands around Rachel's waist and pulled her close.

"You're my sexy thesaurus," she teased before kissing her fully on the lips.

Rachel returned the kiss, resting her arms around Quinn's neck. "I believe the term would more likely be a seductive thesaurus, perhaps tantalizing or erotic."

"Those all sound like you to me," Quinn agreed as she slid her hands along her wife's bottom.

Rachel hummed and gave the blonde another quick kiss. "Now let's get going or we won't make it to our first planned stop before midnight. We are behind as it is."

"I don't care if we're a little behind," she retorted, giving the brunette a quick pinch.

"Quinn," her wife chastised.

"Alright." She groaned.

Quinn gave her one last, deep kiss before retrieving her bike; they resumed walking, and in no time they were over the bridge and officially into unexplored territory. While Rachel continued making light chatter, the blonde found herself growing more and more nervous and distracted. She was concentrating on every sound and movement from the building and alleyways, and the brunette's voice had nearly faded to the background.

"What?" she gasped, looking at Rachel in confusion.

"I thought that might help me to regain your attention." Rachel pouted. "Married for under a day and you have already begun to tune me out, and I am required to suggest naked cycling in the event of rain to get you to listen."

"I'm sorry, I'm just nervous," Quinn apologized.

"Which is precisely why I am trying to make conversation," her wife replied. "Quinn, you will exhaust yourself this way. I'm only trying to make this ordeal more bearable for you and myself, as well."

"Ok," she sighed, "I'm sorry. I just feel like we need to be on our toes."

"And you have to be miserable while we are on our toes?" Rachel said softly. "There are two of us keeping watch; I am paying attention too. You don't have to carry that burden all alone."

"You're right." Quinn smiled.

"No, she's not," a voice called out from behind them.

Both women spun around to see a man less than a yard away aiming a gun in their direction. Quinn's stomach lurched as she recognized him. Warren had changed; he was more gaunt than the last time she had seen him and the road rash on his face and arms hadn't properly healed, leaving him very scared. Instinctively she tried to place herself between him and Rachel, and he laughed.

"Good idea," Warren said cockily. "It might save me a little ammo if I can get you both with the same bullet."

"Who are—" Rachel wheezed from behind Quinn.

"It would be romantic in a way, don't you think, Quinn?" he mused. "Quinn who's going to Bushwick, if you stand really still, I could try to get it right through both your hearts. Now what's more romantic than that?"

"Warren, please," Quinn groped for the right words to placate a lunatic as she reached for her gun, "don't. Let's just think about this—"

"Ah-ah-ah." Warren warned before firing the gun into the air and aiming it squarely at them once again. "Hands where I can see them this time, if you don't mind. Up, a little higher, that's good. You understand right? I mean in general, women can't be trusted, and considering our history, you'll forgive me that I don't consider you an exception to the rule."

"Alright," her voice wavering slightly, "alright. How's this? You let her go and take this up with me. I'm the one you're mad at."

"Absolutely not!" Rachel protested.

Warren shook with laughter before responding, "What about this scenario makes you think you're in a position to make a deal? No, we're all going to stay right here until I feel satisfied with some sense of closure. I'm hurt, Quinn; you hurt me really badly."

"I'm sorry." The blonde forced out the words. "I'm sorry I hurt you, Warren."

"I mean," he continued, "besides the obvious road rash. You stole my car, you rejected me—you used me, Quinn, and that's not very nice. I mean, I felt like we had a connection—more than all those other girls—but I'm a big boy; I can get over that. And on top of all that, you don't even invite me to the wedding."

"Wh-what?" Quinn sputtered.

"I mean, after all we went through together? You never even would have made it here if not for me, and I have to watch it through a pair of binoculars. Now that's not civil." Warren paused to scratch at the scars on his face with his free hand. "You know what? I was wrong; the road-rash really was the worst of it."

Quinn could feel Rachel trembling behind her; the blonde's mind reeled at the thought that Warren had been stalking them this entire time. Her heart was pounding in her ears and her lungs seemed to forget how to function; her muscles were twitching and trembling, and her eyes watered and threatened to spill over. It was clear that there was little hope of getting out of this alive, and it would be a miracle if she could just manage to convince him to leave Rachel intact.

"I'm sorry," she pleaded desperately. "What can I do to make it up to you?"

"I've been thinking about that myself." Warren chuckled. "Well, obviously you're gonna die; I mean, come on—look what you did to my face."

There were a million retorts Quinn wanted to respond with, but she had to keep him calm if she was going to have any chance of getting Rachel out of there. A plan was calculating in her mind of how to distract him long enough for her wife to run. Get him close, occupied, and then attack—tell Rachel to run and then fight him off for as long as possible. She took a deep breath.

"What if I didn't reject you this time?" Quinn said through a tight throat.

"No!" Rachel screamed behind her.

"I actually like a little struggle," Warren laughed, taking a few steps forward, "but I don't know, maybe I'm more in the mood for brunette."

"Come on," she tried to sound confidant as she gagged out the words, "you're not the least bit tantalized at the through of getting the one that got away?"

"Quinn," Rachel sobbed, "please, no."

"I have a great idea," he piped. "I actually came up with it last night while staring at your window; how do you girl's feel about being tied up?"

She could taste breakfast in her mouth before it went completely dry and she shook her head.

"Leave her out of this, Warren," Quinn said defeated. "And you can do whatever you want to me. I won't fight, I won't try to run away; I'll even pretend to enjoy it. Just don't touch Rachel."

Warren stopped a few feet short of her and rubbed his chin; a cruel smile spread over his face and his eyes flicked quickly up and down the length of her body. It was clear that he liked the idea of a captive sex-slave Quinn and he seemed to be mulling it over in his mind. She could hear Rachel whimpering and felt the girl's hands wrap around her waist as she shook and sobbed. The blonde swallowed with great difficulty and felt her heart breaking with every cry that came from the brunette. The man was enjoying the moment, watching her wait for him to decide, and seemed in no hurry to end her suffering any time soon.

"Do we have a deal?" Quinn rasped.

A loud bang nearly deafened her and she froze, a silent scream on her face as she waited for the pain to come—but it didn't. Quinn looked down at her chest and searched for blood, but there was none. Hazel eyes shot back to Warren, who swayed for a second and then slumped to the ground with a loud thud. Rachel sprang forward and kicked the gun away from his hand, Quinn's pistol aimed shakily at the limp body on the street, and nudged him with her foot. Blood oozed from an open wound on the back of Warren's skull, and the blonde sank to her knees without caring that the red fluid was trickling its way towards her.

"I-I think he is dead," Rachel stated bluntly. "Normally I would be very cross with you for not having the safety on, but in this case—Quinn!"

The blonde's head shot up to look at Rachel, who was gingerly picking up Warren's weapon and slipping the safety back into place. For a moment she wondered if she had died and this was some crazy pre-death hallucination—or perhaps even some version of heaven. Rachel's voice sounded muffled as she squatted down in front of her.

"Quinn, are you alright?" the brunette asked urgently, "Quinn?"

The blonde felt herself being shaken by the shoulders, but she couldn't seem to form an answer out of the jumbled haze in her mind.

"Oh, oh," Rachel winced, "I don't want to have to do this."

Her wife gently swatted the side of Quinn's face, unwilling to commit to a full power slap like in the movies, and stared into her eyes pitifully.

"Oh, Quinn, please, please," the girl sobbed as she pulled her into an awkward hug.

Something suddenly clicked into place and Quinn wrapped her arms around the brunette. "I-I'm ok. I'm ok, Rachel; oh god, Rachel, I'm so sorry. I—"

"Hush," her wife crooned in her ear.

"I made you kill someone," she mumbled painfully.

"Hush." Rachel repeated, cupping Quinn's face in her hands. "I don't care. Do you understand? I don't care. I love you."

"I love you." Quinn hiccupped. "I love you, Rachel."

"We need to go," her wife insisted.

"Ok." She nodded dumbly, standing shakily to her feet.

This time, they climbed onto their bikes and Quinn followed Rachel down the street quickly, putting as much space between them and what had just happened as possible. They didn't try to make conversation and she listened to the sound of the chains clanking and the tires against the asphalt; the blonde was aware that Rachel was constantly glancing back to check on her. Every time she saw her face, her heart throbbed a little harder and her lips twitched up, and each time that the brunette would turn back ahead to watch the road, she found herself holding her breath, waiting for the next glimpse of her hero.

[06-13

Quinn has finally fallen asleep after today's ordeal. I am not quite sure how I have managed not to drop from exhaustion myself, but I am irrevocably awake. Perhaps it is the adrenaline still in my system or the fact that I will, no doubt, have horrific nightmares for years to come. Let the record show that despite my complete disdain for violence, I do not feel in the least bit guilty for what I had to do today. It worries me that I am incapable of experiencing regret for extinguishing a human life, but I would do the same a hundred times over to protect Quinn. I am not all together sure that I would have done the same for myself and I genuinely hope I will never have to do anything requiring a gun again in my lifetime. That man, though he does not deserve that classification, left me no alternative—and I am ashamed to say he deserved it and worse.

From what Quinn had shared about their encounter, I was completely unprepared for the levels of insanity and derangement he had sunk to. I find myself dearly hoping that he was already like that; it pains me to believe that there may be more like him in the world around us. Alright. At this moment I choose to speak not more on the subject. When my wife has had some rest and has had some time to process the ordeal, then I intend to speak quite frankly with her about what she did today, and beyond that, I dearly wish to never discuss it again. Unless she feels she needs to, of course.

We did not make it to our first scheduled break location, but I believe we can make up the distance easily tomorrow. I had already prepared myself to be off schedule from time to time, but I will admit that I am slightly disheartened by the difficulty of our first day. I must constantly remind myself that tomorrow will be better and that after a period of adjustment, everything will become easier and, hopefully, faster. I will certainly need to become more efficient at setting camp and preparing meals; despite my practice at home over the past month, there is an unexpected variance between training and real life application. I cannot fathom how it is any different to construct a tent within the confines of one's room than in an alley way, but somehow the situation does make it more difficult. Along the same lines, cooking dinner was also far more difficult than I had anticipated, but I blame that on the fact that the wind had picked up noticeably and made keeping the pan evenly heated arduous. Again, in time I am sure I will learn to overcome these trivial matters.

On a much lighter and more pleasant topic, our wedding utterly exceeded all my wildest dreams, and I am capable of some fantastically wondrous dreams. Quinn was an absolute vision in her dress and I will concede that her refusing to allow me to see it before hand made the experience of finally beholding her in it all the more exquisite. As for her insistence that we spend the night before the wedding alone; it certainly heightened the reward of returning to our room together after the ceremony. Not to be too vulgar…]

"What are you doing?" Quinn asked as she blinked across the fire at Rachel.

The brunette was leaned against the brick wall of the alley, flashlight clenched between her teeth, scribbling into a decorative journal. Her warm brown eyes grew impossibly large and she spit out her light source and closed the book before wrapping it protectively against her chest.

"Nothing," she sing-songed, looking slightly guilty.

"What is that?" the blonde said as her eyebrow quirked up. "What are you writing?"

Rachel's cheeks blushed and Quinn crawled around the fire and reached for the book.

"It's nothing," the brunette's lie was obvious, "I was only going over our inventory."

"Oh?" she replied coolly. "I would very much like to see where we stand on supplies. Hand it over."

The panicked look on Rachel's face was priceless as she stood up and held the book as far over her head as possible.

"Rachel," Quinn laughed, "I love every inch of you, and I can reach over ever inch of you, so let's not do this the hard way."

"It's private," Rachel whined. "It's my private diary."

The blonde stood and considered her wife's argument for a second before giving her a mischievous smile. "You read mine."

The brunette faltered for a split second, and Quinn took the instant to snatch the book from her hand. Hazel eyes flitted over the last few lines in the book and her cheeks began to flame. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Rachel blushing and fidgeting with her pen. Quinn cleared her throat.

"I'm really flattered, Rachel," she breathed without a hint of teasing, "but you can't write this stuff."

"I can write whatever I please; you're my wife, not my boss," the brunette answered back.

"Rach, when we find Santana, she is going to make a beeline for anything that looks private, and she is going to read every last word of it," Quinn pointed out. "And it will be the first time that we will be glad the internet doesn't exist anymore."

"Oh." Her wife gasped.

She turned her eyes back to the page and reread the bottom paragraph; her pulse quickened and her cheeks burned again.

"Are you always this detailed about everything you write?" the blonde asked.

Rachel cleared her throat. "Only the things that are indescribably mind blowing."

"It's pretty detailed," Quinn choked as she closed the book and handed it back. "Mind blowing, huh?"

Warm brown eyes glanced up at her timidly. "Uh-huh."

Quinn pulled Rachel close to her and leaned her forehead against her wife's.

"How about when we get to Lima I find you a huge, sturdy, impenetrable safe and you can write all about what's about to happen in a few minutes, and we will lock it safely away where our nosey friend will never find it?" she offered.

"That might be a suitable compromise," Rachel agreed before pulling Quinn even closer.

[06-13 continued

Thanks to Quinn's astute observation about the nature of our friend's—namely but not exclusive to Santana's—inquisitive natures, I will refrain from included too many elicit details in my journal…for the time being. Suffice to say that I am thoroughly pleased and fulfilled by my wife and every moment that we spend together. Also, I find a particular sense of pride that my writing pleases her equally as well.

I believe I am done writing for the night as I suddenly find myself adequately calmed and relaxed from the day's events and need to get a solid nights rest for tomorrow's endeavors—and all the bike riding, too. ]

The morning's discussion was mercifully short; Rachel seemed eager to put it behind them and so Quinn assured her that everything was fine—or as fine as could be considering the circumstances. The blonde focused on staying engaged in her wife's conversations as they made their way through more of the city. During the lulls, when her petite bride was caught up in plans and directions, she would find herself thinking about what a mess she had made of this journey already. Quinn inwardly blamed herself for not being more alert, for not acting more quickly, and, worst of all, causing Rachel to have to take a life. She could barely imagine what that must have been like for the girl who still refused to eat, let alone kill, an animal unless there was no other option, and part of her wondered if she could ever truly make it up to her.

The brunette had insisted on making a pass through Broadway because they would most likely never return to New York. Quinn was used to strange sights by now, but she hadn't been prepared to see a nearly pristine, undamaged section of the city. With the exception of no power and broken windows, from people scavenging it appeared, she wouldn't have been able to tell anything had happened here. The blonde chained both of the bikes in place and double checked the locks on the tow-behinds. With the buildings in as good a shape as they were, there was a good chance that people could be using them. As they entered the Majestic, the concession stand was picked clean, the curtains torn down—there were definite signs of squatting, but nothing looked recent.

"Why didn't they stay?" Rachel mused out loud. "This area is in the best condition by far."

"Probably ran out of food and water. It's been months. Anything in the surrounding restaurants would have gone bad and that leaves bottled water and candy." Quinn sighed.

Rachel nodded as she gently made her way onto the stage. Quinn had imagined the brunette on stage on Broadway many times and seeing her here, like this, seemed unfair. It wasn't right that the only moments Rachel would have on stage were stolen and unofficial; even in the midst of everything that had happened, everything that had changed, the blonde felt a twinge at this opportunity being closed to her lover.

"I'm going to use the bathroom and check on our supplies just in case." Quinn sighed. "I'll be quick."

"Alright," Rachel nodded solemnly, "be careful."

The blonde nodded and hurried back up the aisle; she felt ridiculous for wanting to cry over something so small. In the face of reality, she just wished there was something she could do for Rachel. Something to cheer her up and always remind her that she was special; that her dream might have to change because the world had changed, but it didn't have to die. Quinn bypassed the bathrooms and paced the lobby for a moment. There was nothing there to scavenge—no food or water—but out of the corner of her eye, she spotted something that reminded her that there was more than one type of need they both had. She gently tugged down the poster and folded it as carefully as she could; she wanted to save it for later as a gift to her wife—she also knew even if Rachel wanted it, she would insist on not wasting precious space on something frivolous. Quinn tucked it away as quickly as she could and scanned the still deserted street. One piece of Broadway memorabilia wouldn't make up for everything, but it was a start. She didn't feel ready to go back inside, but they needed to get moving again soon. As she entered the lobby she could hear Rachel's strong voice drifting from the auditorium and she picked up the pace.

_I'll march my band out,  
I will beat my drum,  
And if I'm fanned out,  
Your turn at bat, sir,  
At least I didn't fake it.  
Hat, sir, I guess I didn't make it.  
Get ready for me, love,  
Cause I'm a comer,  
I simply gotta march,  
My hearts a drummer.  
Nobody, no, nobody  
Is gonna rain on my parade!_

Her warm brown eyes were edged in pink despite the smile plastered on the brunette's face. Rachel was performing; no doubt she was imagining a packed house, or at least trying to.

"Rach," Quinn rasped.

"It's ok Quinn," her wife assured her quickly. "I just...didn't want to leave without having done that."

"I'd put the world back together for you if I could." The blonde sighed.

Rachel let out a short little laugh. "I still can't get used to it when you talk like that, but I love it. I won't hold you responsible for piecing the whole of society together again, but there is one request I would like to make."

Quinn's face flushed; she was fairly sure what that request was and she felt, momentarily, that reconstructing the city might be easier for her at this moment.

"We should get moving again soon, Rach," she reminded her wife.

"Exactly; that's what makes my request so convenient." The brunette smiled. "I read your journal, remember? I know I wasn't the only one who dreamed of being on this stage."

"It wasn't the same for me, Rach; I never believed it the way you did. I never hoped," Quinn offered, knowing she couldn't compare to the brunette's performance.

"Then for me," Rachel pouted, "so that I can have proof that you still hope, still have silly dreams like I do."

She couldn't refuse any longer, so she made her way onto the stage. Her smile wavered a little as Rachel took her spot in the center of the front row. Quinn couldn't remember the last time she'd sung alone—she was having trouble remembering any songs at the moment. Her face colored more when she realized the only song she had clear in her mind; the blonde took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

_Brown eyes, across the room_

_Tempting me, but it's too soon._

_Brown eyes, light up the world,_

_But then I hide in the dark again._

_Tan skin, across the hall_

_I'd like to join, but I avoid it all._

_Tan skin, all hidden away_

_I want to stay, but I'll stomp off again._

_Dark hair, across town_

_Makes me want to turn my life upside-down._

_Dark hair, I want to complement_

_But I just yell again. _

_Your voice, across the stage_

_The sound that starts and end's my days._

_Your voice could bring me home_

_But I'll shut it out again. _

_Brown eyes, across the room_

_I want you so, my heart's in bloom._

_Brown eyes, could make me brave_

_But I'll chicken out again. _

She wasn't able to open her eyes until the last four lines, but the look on Rachel's face made the effort worth it. Quinn hummed to a close and waited for her wife's response.

"I've never heard that song before," Rachel breathed.

"I," Quinn paused, "wrote it a little while after everyone wrote their songs. After Regionals."

The brunette stared up at her for a moment before responding, "Why didn't you ever sing it? Everyone would have been glad to hear it, even if it was late."

"How could I have?" The blonde chuckled uneasily. "That would have been…I couldn't have risked it then."

Her wife nodded and hurried back up on stage to wrap her in a warm embrace; Quinn ran her hands softly through Rachel's silky hair and enjoyed the stillness of the moment.

"I wish you had risked it," the brunette mumbled into her shoulder, "but I'm glad that you finally shared it with me."

"I wish I had, too," Quinn crooned.

Rachel broke the hug and flicked a few stray tears quickly away from her eyes. Quinn followed suite and smiled down at the woman of her dreams. In the grand scheme of things, she was glad that of all of their dreams, this had been the one to come true—the two of them together, finally.

"We should be going," Rachel said through a sniffle. "I've already kept us behind schedule enough for one day."

"It was worth it," the blonde assured her.

The brunette pushed up on her tiptoes and pressed her lips softly against hers before taking Quinn's hand and leading her back up the aisle. Once they were in the lobby, the blonde stopped, tightening her grip on Rachel's hand as she gestured toward the double doors.

"What?" the petite woman asked.

"Shhh," Quinn whispered. "Just past the doors. You see?"

Several heads shot up at the sound of Rachel's gasp; Quinn counted four gazelles standing close by their bikes. She imagined there were several more still out of sight; all the antelope were now staring intently at the two of them and she did her best to remain as still as possible.

"They're so beautiful," Rachel breathed, "but what are they doing here?"

Quinn shrugged; the herd had lost interest in them and was now shuffling on. The brunette tugged her out the door and continued to watch as they meandered down the street in the direction of Central Park.

"I suppose they are from the zoo," her wife stated.

"I wonder what else is wandering loose around here," the blonde replied nervously as she began unchaining the bicycles.

"Oh," Rachel cried. "The little one is hurt. He's limping; at least I think it's a him. At any rate, it can't quite keep up with the rest."

Quinn wrapped the girl in her arms; it was just another thing reminding her how vulnerable the brunette was. She seemed to have sympathy for everyone and everything. The gazelle in question was less than a block away from them and the rest were already beginning to make their way around the corner. Suddenly, the herd scattered as three hunched figures leapt out from an alleyway. It didn't take long to recognize that they were hyenas; Rachel trembled against her and buried her face once again in her shoulder. The pack had already circled the weaker straggler and was taking it down. Quinn didn't want the brunette to see, so she backed them to the bikes and turned around, feeling safe that the pack wouldn't bother with them since easier prey was already theirs. She froze and clenched Rachel closer to her; directly beyond their bikes, a lion stood crouched and seemingly staring straight at them. The blonde fumbled for her gun with one hand and the big cat let out a thundering roar. Her wife jumped and screamed and Quinn pressed the brunette's head tighter against her shoulder as she shakily aimed the weapon at the lion's head.

The beast sprung forward and she squeezed the trigger, but nothing happened; the safety was still on. Her hazel eyes went wide as the lion brushed past them and barreled down the street towards the pack. She released Rachel as she turned to see the big cat chase the hyenas away and take over the carcass as his own.

"Quinn," the brunette wheezed shakily.

"Get on your bike," the blonde barked. "We should get out while they're distracted."

Rachel didn't need any more prompting, and soon they were both pedaling away as quickly as they could. Neither of them stopped until they reached the U.S. 1 Upper Level; the tunnels would have been faster, but neither liked the odds of them being or staying intact. Quinn finally insisted that they take a break to rest and eat; Rachel seemed reluctant but gave into reason. They set up at the entrance of the bridge; the blonde set to work on the fire and meal to let the brunette catch her breath and relax.

"We could stop for the day if you want," she offered.

Rachel shook her head quickly. "I'd much prefer to cover as much ground as we can today. I'm eager to be out of the city, especially now that we know there are all manner of wild animals roaming the streets looking for a meal."

[06-14

We have nearly caught up to my projected goal; I estimate that, provided all goes according to plan tomorrow, we may be able to exit the city. I would write more, but today has been exhausting both physically and emotionally. Between the exertion of traveling and the poignant highs and lows, I can barely keep my eyes open and my hand steady. Tomorrow we leave New York City and venture into even more unknown territory. I do not know what more we will face, but we cannot stop until we have reached Lima and learned what has become of our loved ones. Quinn is already sleeping soundly and I am eager to join her. ]

**As I said, I can't estimate how long it will be between chapters but I hope this little snippet was enjoyable. I'll try to make the next chapter worth the wait. Reviews are always welcome. Let me know if I should continue.**


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